Call Me Ishmael
by Aliet Faslami
Summary: AU Finding Nemo. Takes a rather dark spin on the story. A fishtank becomes a mental ward and an ocean becomes an entire planet.
1. Peanut Gallery

First ever attempt at a Finding Nemo story, so of course it's going to be strange.. I own nothing, except the concept of this A/U. Might continue this, might not. I don't know for sure.  
  
They called it a mental ward. And for all its pleasantries, expensive landscaping, and spotless showrooms, it appeared to be just that. However, it was the true interior that revealed it to be little more than a prison.  
  
Large, padded rooms were crammed with up to ten individuals with varying diseases of the mind. It hardly seemed as if matches were made between the occupants, with the passive being shoved into the same quarters as the violent. Frequently, those suffering from claustrophobia were placed in the most crowded, cramped rooms, as if efforts were made to have them face the thing they feared worse than death. Cries declaring sanity, thirst, anger, and unidentifiable claims echoed down blank white halls. Once a week, the rooms were emptied for cleaning. During this time, the patients were taken to exercise, but not all of them returned to the sterilized rooms.  
  
It was a place people were taken when the world wanted them forgotten, when all hope for salvation had been exhausted, and when all matter of familial relations had finally declined contact for the last time.  
  
He had a right to be afraid. There was no logical reason for him to be here. No one had ever diagnosed him with a disorder of any sort, let alone one serious enough to land him in a place like this. Why hadn't his father come for him? He'd been standing right there when the vans had come. Of course, his father had been restrained. The school officials had stopped him from coming after him. Why was anyone's guess. He remembered the look of fear and uncertainty in their eyes as he'd been dragged away, begging for his father's help, though none had come.  
  
No comfort came from the silent attendants that paced at his side. They were as pale as their uniforms, with jaws set in stone. Chill seeped into his bones from the very walls. There would never be any comfort in this place.  
  
"This is your room," the attendant to his right said, dull eyes watching the one on the left move to open the door. "Schedule is on the door. If you can read."  
  
He was thrust unceremoniously through the door, into the dim room beyond. Despite it being past noon, hardly any light came through the dingy, barred window set high against the far wall. Several forms drifted in the faint light. He crouched against the door, his heart pounding wildly, painfully aware his disfigured arm would be no help in case these people turned out to be violent.  
  
"Who's the new guy?"  
  
"Looks like a kid."  
  
A few came forward, studying him with eyes that were strangely clear. There was a young man, barely older than he was, a woman, her hair in a complete disarray, and an older man, his girth overshooting the restriction an worn belt placed on it. Other figures darted in the background, indistinguishable in the gloom. Panicked, he pressed further against the wall, trying in vain to find an escape that wasn't there. Who knew their intent? His heart rate increased as the man put his thick-fingered hand forward.  
  
"Name's Bloat."  
  
Words failed him. More names followed suit. The disheveled woman was named Deb, and the other man had no recollection of anything resembling a normal name, but simply asked if he had brought the bubbles. "Never bring the bubbles," the man complained, shuffling stocking clad feet against the padded floor. "What do I do without the bubbles? Nothing to do without them."  
  
The woman, Deb patted his shoulder with a hand manicured in blue nailpolish. "There there, you'll get your bubbles soon! Maybe Flo will bring them when she comes to visit us! She always brings presents, you know," she added with a smirk at the newcomer.  
  
"She never brought me anything," complained the fat man, Bloat, taking a seat on one of the benches that lined the wall. It creaked.  
  
"That's because FLO isn't REAL!" came a frantic cry. "If she WAS real, they wouldn't let her IN here. so many. she wouldn't be CLEAN!" The cry trailed off into a low murmur.  
  
The newcomer turned, his eyes coming to rest on a dismal sight. The man had to be in his thirties, yet he hugged his knees and burrowed into a corner like a child. His hair had been dyed a mixture of purple and yellow, and his eyes were wild. A smaller, leaner man with a heavy moustache sat beside him, constantly reassuring him with almost inaudible words. He gave a curt nod to the newcomer, then resumed his duty.  
  
Their problems were almost apparent now. He shrank away from them, his heart pounding in his ears. Yet they continued to crowd him, pressing him down with questions, advice, and bickering directed towards each other. He felt as if he were suffocating, drowning in their raucous voices.  
  
"Knock it off, you're scaring the kid."  
  
This new voice cut through the others with an air of casual authority. Almost instantly, the group scattered to various corners of the room, some muttering amongst themselves. It was then he was able to lay his eyes on the two forms beneath the window. The first was an older woman, slightly round at the edges, with a pleasant, dreamy face and small, dark eyes. Her hair was a pale shade of red, thick, and was pulled into a wispy bun behind her oval face. She was the most motherly person he had ever seen, and she smiled at him, the expression gentle, welcoming. She reclined against a tall, lanky form, who casually lit a cigarette and gazed at the newcomer with intelligent, cunning brown eyes. Pale, scraggly hair fell into his face, not obscuring the ragged scars marring his informal visage. Tattoos in the shape of black stripes wound their way up bare arms, one of which had been withered into a claw-like appendage barely usable for everyday activity.  
  
The newcomer was stunned.  
  
"Nice to see you face-to-face, kid," said the cigarette-man. His eyes calculated the newcomer. "Sorry about the peanut gallery. They don't know when to quit." He gestured at the woman leaning on him. "She's Peach. Sanest of us all. Best ears in the house. Ever need to know when we need to get the crew ready to head out, ask her. Same if you need anything." A pause as he took a drag on the little roll of tobacco.  
  
"Who. are you?" the newcomer asked, hesitating on his words and resenting himself for such a show of weakness.  
  
"Call me Ishmael," the man said, grinning devilishly. "Nah, just Gill. Like on a fish." Another pause as the nicotine took effect. "Who're you, kid?"  
  
"I'm Nemo." 


	2. Land Shark

Author's Note: All right. This IS an A/U fic. "Alternate Universe", for those new to the acronym. With that said, this is why the fish are human. It's an alternate universe. Pretty much the same story, only with people. And as for the comment about smoking in a loony bin… well… that'll be explained in due time.   
  
All who reviewed have my deepest thanks.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
He came to, lying on his back on the pavement, stars dancing to and fro before his eyes. Someone bent over him, waving a hand in his face, dimly asking him to count the fingers held before him. It took him a minute to register, and yet another minute to sit up. The someone sat on the ground next to him.   
  
  
  
"You okay?" It was a woman.  
  
  
  
"I think so…" he muttered, rubbing the back of his head gingerly. "What.. happened..?"  
  
  
  
"You fell down," she replied. "At least.. I think you fell down… I don't really remember." She gave a nervous laugh. "You were running fast! And.. then it all goes poof."  
  
  
  
He stared at her, stopped, and then resumed staring again. Her hair was blue. Bright blue. The sort of blue that could only come from a box, yet it had all the aspects—highlights, dark places—of natural color. It was the strangest thing he'd ever seen. Her purple eyes were large in her face, giving her a constantly innocent expression. Freckles dotted across her cheeks, pale in contrast to the dark color of her eyebrows and lashes. She reached out to him with a hand colored in bright yellow nail polish, and clad in a black T-shirt. "Let me help you up!"  
  
  
  
Without waiting for him to respond, the woman gave a hard tug on his arms, wrenching him into a standing position. He almost fell back to his knees. She steadied him, a smile spreading across her face. She was impossibly thin, but towered above him.   
  
  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
  
  
Another smile, just as big, just as happy. "I'm Dory! Y'know, like a boat!" The latter was added with a slight giggle.   
  
  
  
"Nice to meet you," he answered, dazed. "How… how'd I end up on the ground?"  
  
  
  
She shrugged. "I dunno. You were running, you tell me."  
  
  
  
He leaned back against a tree, still rubbing his head as things gradually came back to him. Nemo. The vans. The teachers holding him back. His frantic dash after the trucks… this park. Hitting the woman—  
  
  
  
"Sorry," he muttered, staring at his shoes. They were horribly scuffed from the chase and collision. Not to mention there was a new hole in his slacks. If he ever was able to get home again… he pushed the thought away. "I didn't mean to run into you."  
  
  
  
"Run into me? What are you talking about?"   
  
  
  
Again, he found himself staring at her. A look of confusion was plastered across her face. However, though, he figured she'd hit her head as hard as he had in their little collision. Another realization moved to take the place of this one, one that brightened his mood somewhat. "Excuse me, but.. did you see a van go by here? White, big yellow license plates? Sort of scary…?"   
  
  
  
Dory brightened instantly. "Yeah! Two of them! Big, BIG ones!" She gestured southerly. "That way! We'll get a cab!"  
  
  
  
Hope leapt, blossoming red in his heart. She took his hand, pulling him towards the other end of the park, releasing her grip on him almost instantly as she broke into a breakneck run. He did his best to follow her as she wove between trees, hurdled over bushes, and tiptoed through flocks of pigeons. Eventually, she slowed her frantic pace, giving him the precious time needed to catch his breath. This must have alerted her to his failing stamina, for she started to glance around, as if something was after her. The instant her purple eyes locked on him however, she began running again, taking a look over her shoulder at him every so often.  
  
  
  
Puzzled, he darted after her again, regretting his lack of gym card more than ever. He'd just never had the time to go to a place like that. But, had he thought that one day, he'd be running through the park, chasing after some blue-haired woman, he'd have grabbed the first person in bike shorts he came across and… well… he didn't know. Maybe steal theirs, had they actually had one on them… He shook his head and reserved his energy for catching up to her.  
  
  
  
She stopped, finally, beaten by the sudden lack of grass and the onset of twilight. Panting, he drew to a halt behind her, doubling over with the effort of forcing precious air into heaving lungs.   
  
  
  
"What're you, some kind of stalker!?"  
  
  
  
Stunned, he looked up. The woman's purple eyes were hard, angry. Yet a hint of confusion lingered beneath the veneer of anger.   
  
  
  
"I don't.."  
  
  
  
"Stop following me!" she snapped. "Geez! You think you'd take a hint by the time we hit the dumpsters, but NOOOO! Go home!" She folded her arms, daring him to answer her. Wind ruffled blue hair.   
  
  
  
"What..?" His own confusion was quickly replaced with indignation. "Look! YOU'RE the one who TOLD me to follow you!" he said, fast losing his temper. "What is WRONG with you!?" Half expecting her to be hurt by his statement, he pushed his glasses back up on his nose in order to see her better, in case he need apologize.   
  
  
  
Confusion cleared from her face. "Ohhh…" she mumbled, leaning against a newspaper dispenser. "Ohhh… I see…" A yellow nail nervously picked at her lower lip. "I'm sorry…"  
  
  
  
"You're sorry?"   
  
  
  
"Uh-huh…" she reverted her gaze to the ground. Her feet were bare, scuffed from their run. A few scrapes oozed slightly onto the ground. "It's my fault." She looked at him now. "I have… oh, how to put this…? Memory issues." Now she gave him a nervous smile, blush tingeing her cheeks.   
  
  
  
He stared.  
  
  
  
"Parents used to say I had the memory of a goldfish!" The smile faded. "Erm… least… I THINK they did…" She looked around wildly, her eyes widening. "Where… are they?"  
  
  
  
"This isn't happening," he moaned, sinking down onto the curb. "What was I thinking in the first place…? Asking strange, blue-haired women for help…" He turned, glaring at her. "I bet you never even SAW a van, did you?"  
  
  
  
Snapping back from watching something across the road, she put a yellow-finger nailed hand forward. "I'm Dory," she said, another wide smile on her face.  
  
  
  
"…Something's wrong with you. Really, really wrong."  
  
  
  
She only stared at him.  
  
  
  
With a wordless noise of frustration, he put his head in his hands. "This is NOT happening, this is NOT happening…" He was getting a migraine. Hadn't he taken the medication this morning? Had he locked the house? Left the iron on? Remembered to take his spare keys?  
  
  
  
Did it matter…?  
  
  
  
"What's not happening?"  
  
  
  
This time, he didn't even look up. "My son… I went to… pick him up from school… and they were taking him away… I don't know why, or anything. They were just… dragging him off to the vans." Tears were forming in his eyes. "I was so careful. They COULDN'T be social workers…? Unless there's a new law against not having two parents. I just… I have to find him."  
  
  
  
He felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, he met sympathetic purple eyes. That was different, but not surprising to him. Dory patted his shoulder once more before her concentration was pulled elsewhere. His attention soon followed.  
  
  
  
Night had fallen while he'd been babbling, shrouding the city in a cool blanket. Lights flickered in the looming buildings beyond the park. Trees and small shrubs rustled in the light breeze that kicked up from the river beyond where boats could be seen moving sluggishly back to their moorings. The streetlamps came on, buzzing. This area was vacant by now, the hot dog vendors and magazine clerks having gone home, or off to take a break. None of this attracted his attention as much as a dull roar emanating from down the road. He stood, instinctually moving in front of Dory, despite her stature. The woman stood, peering curiously over him to see what it was exactly that he was hiding.   
  
  
  
Streetlamps gleaming off bright chrome, a motorcycle cruised around the corner, black-clad rider eyeing them. It whipped past them once, then doubled back and glided to a stop a few feet away from the two. The man riding it flipped black sunglasses up, sizing them up.   
  
  
  
"Hello," he said casually. A grin similar to the one usually plastered to Dory's face appeared on his lips.  
  
  
  
"Hi!" the aforementioned woman answered. She leaned around her supposed protector, waving gaily to the man on the motorcycle. "How're you—hey!" The exclamation was dragged from her as her arm was grabbed by the man trying to keep her from harm. "Let go!"  
  
  
  
He didn't. "We… really need to be going…"  
  
  
  
"Aw, stay a while!" The biker's grin had become a leer. "Who might you two be?"  
  
  
  
She had wrenched her arm free, displaying it to the biker. "I'm Dory! And this… um. This is…" She stopped, horribly confused.   
  
  
  
That was right. He never told her his name. He'd been so busy trying to sort out what had happened, where he was going… everything. In all this, he'd never mentioned to her his name. Not even thinking, he held out his hand to the biker. "M… I'm… Marlin," he mumbled, somewhat dazed.   
  
  
  
"Name's Bruce," replied the biker, shaking his hand warmly. "You lost?"  
  
  
  
He managed to shake his head. "We… we were looking… for a van."  
  
  
  
Now puzzlement crossed the bandana crowned visage. "A white van?" he asked. "Big yellow license plates?"  
  
  
  
"Yes! Yes!"   
  
  
  
"Is it your van?"  
  
  
  
His enthusiasm faded. "Well… er… no. But I… you see… They—the people who drove it… they took my son…"   
  
  
  
"Took your kid?"   
  
  
  
"I went to pick him up from school and they were hauling him away…" It was funny, the more he said it, the easier it was to believe. "I thought maybe they were social workers.. but… Now I just don't know…" He shoved his hands roughly into his pockets, fingering the loose change inside.  
  
  
  
A hand with yellow nails on his shoulder again. "You poor thing…" Dory's mystified voice was strangely comforting; albeit she'd already heard the same thing just a moment ago. "It'll be okay."  
  
  
  
Almost instantly after he'd finished, he was being hoisted onto the back of the motorcycle. He let out a strangled sound, watching the ground fall away, taking his glasses with it. The whole world snapped out of focus. He felt himself being placed behind a broad back clad in leather. Another noise escaped him, this one far more frightened than the last. This was NOT happening… One minute he was on his way to Nemo's school with a promise to change, the next he was being accosted by blue-haired women and bizarre bikers with pink bandanas. He needed milk. His ulcer would be flaring up after this for sure.   
  
  
  
"Don't worry, chum. Bruce'll get you there before that van leaves off! Hop on Dory, hon."  
  
  
  
"Whee!" He felt her slide on behind him, wrapping her bony arms around his waist. "Oh, oh wait, these're yours. I think." She slid his glasses carefully on his nose, her tongue poked out in concentration. This accomplished, she sat back, once again encircling him in her grasp. Her touch put him on edge.  
  
  
  
"Everyone settled in? Good!" The bike took off, giving Marlin just enough time to read the back of the biker's jacket before his head was snapped backwards into Dory's chest.  
  
It said, quite simply, "Land Shark." 


	3. White Suits

A/N: Taking some creative liberties with this part... it basically encloses the shark scene and begins the scene with the angler fish. More tank soon to come. Probably right after the angler scene finishes up. So.. anyway, here it goes.   
  
White Suits  
  
He rarely drank. The last time he had was on his last anniversary. He could only vaguely remember that day. Yet the biker and his two friends had ceremoniously plunked a full mug of some unidentifiable alcohol before him and were now watching, waiting for, him to down it in the same unruly manner as they had swallowed up their drinks. It did not escape his notice that, while Dory and the bikers happily drank things that looked suspiciously like nothing more than ginger ale, he was the one sitting on the sticky plastic stool, a mug of beer before him.  
  
Dory spun on her stool, her blue hair flying in all directions. She let out a joyous squeal and reached out, stopping her revolutions by grabbing whoever happened to let their extremities get too close to her scrawny limbs.   
  
Her actions pleased the "Land Sharks" to no end. They egged her on good naturedly, applauding when she completed a full spin. Bruce sat on a pool table that had obviously seen better days, a worn cue leaning against his denim-clad thigh. Pale blue dust caked his nails. At either side of him were two significantly smaller men; one with a tattoo of an anchor on his arm, the other lacking any defining quality save his pierced nose and the fact that he was only referred to as "chum", mostly by the larger leader.   
  
"So… Murry, was it?" drawled Bruce, stirring his drink idly.  
  
"Marlin."  
  
"Right, Marlin. Sorry."   
  
"Who's Marlin?" Dory called, spinning past them once again. "Oh! Oh right! Him!"  
  
The three shifted, hiding their amusement, while he did nothing to hide his irritation. "Look. Did you just bring me here to make me drunk or did you bring me here to help me?" he demanded, getting to his feet. The dramatic effect was lessened, however, when Dory's yellow nails latched onto him, stopping her whirling and toppling him over backwards in one fell swoop. She shrieked, a sound lacking complete merriment and dove to haul him back to his feet. He pushed her aid away irritably. The disheartened young woman sat back on her stool, her mood brightening instantly as she found she still had some soda left. She resumed her spinning, taking her drink along for the ride this time.   
  
"Don't get so excited," the biker with the anchor tattoo muttered as he got to his feet. "It's not like we can just point at them."   
  
Bruce nodded, his voice dropping to a wary level. "They look for any excuse to haul you away. They see us in here, they assume we're still alcoholics—"  
  
"You're what!?"  
  
"Don't interrupt. We're in a program now."  
  
"Oh lord…" He put his head in his hands. This couldn't get any worse… could it?  
  
The Land Shark continued. "They'll drag us off in their big vans, just like your kid. Then no one hears from you again. Some people say you get used as a test subject and whatnot. Happened to an old friend of mine." As he spoke, however, he threw a cautious nod in the direction of one of the dimly-lit booths.   
  
It had gotten worse.  
  
"But that's insane!" He stole a look over the Land Shark's shoulder, in order to catch a glimpse of whoever it was at that particular booth. "Do they even have permits for that!? Who do they think they are?"  
  
"Probably the government," replied Anchor-Tattoo.   
  
"Think they own everything," added the pierced-nose biker.  
  
Now he could see the occupants of the booth. Both were men, middle-aged, their pale hair cut close to their heads, arranged in neat shocks. Anything else was impossible to note, except for their pressed, white jumpsuits. They were horribly obvious against the wood and vinyl backdrop of the bar. After a long while, he realized he was staring, and they realized the same.   
  
By this time, the bar was fairly crowded. Bikers of all shapes, sizes and, literally, colors milled about the large room. It seemed impossible the men in white had picked out his stare from amongst the hundreds of others they were receiving. Yet they had. He felt his heart hammering, his feet freeze to the spot, as they approached, their mannerisms the very essence of brusque business.   
  
"Uhh… Bruce?" Anchor-Tattoo murmured, noticing the same thing.  
  
"What?" The leader turned. Spotting the danger, his eyes lost their usual gleam. "Oh no… Murry. Run."  
  
"What!? Run!? Run where!?"   
  
"Parking lot. Someone'll get you to their van. Should have their location on—"  
  
He was cut off by a shout of rage and a feminine cry of surprise. Still perched haphazardly on her stool, Dory's purple eyes were locked onto a man even larger than Bruce. Her drink had left its glass and was now dripping off of the hefty fellow's face. Obviously, her insane spinning had done more than make her dizzy. Now she was rooted to the spot, staring in horror at the fist flying in her direction.   
  
Without thinking, he launched himself at her, pulling her down to the dirty floor before one of her purple eyes was damaged by the flying fist. While the move saved her an injury, it added to his embarrassment. He had landed on top of her. Sounds of a fight raged above as the big man's fist had hit an innocent target. No one seemed to see the two on the floor.  
  
Hurriedly, he rolled off her, keeping a hand on her thin shoulder to make sure her memory didn't get her into any serious physical harm. Splinters of wood rained down from a recently broken pool cue. She cried out, covering her eyes as if the wood were glass. The cry startled him, and he propelled her—on hand and knee—forcefully towards the door, fearing someone had hit her. True, he could have left her there, in the care of the distracted Land Sharks. But, from what he could tell, she was as good at defending herself as he was at relaxing. Just abandoning her in this place, given its current condition, would have been disastrous, despite what meager protection their biker friends could provide.   
  
The white pants were visible through the forest of legs, heading for the door. He hastily reversed direction, hauling the frightened woman towards the restrooms. She followed, whimpering. Only when she saw the sign on the men's room door did she protest.  
  
"I can't go in there…" Her expression was both confused and indignant. "It's the MEN's room."   
  
"Do you want a chair broken over your head?" he snapped, sounding more callous than he had intended. Her eyes widened as she frantically shook her head. "Then get in!" With another protest, he shoved her in before him.   
  
A pause. "Hey… there's a COUCH in here! Wait… erm… why am I in a bathroom…? With urinals…?"   
  
He pushed in after her, leaning against the door to secure it. A sigh of relief escaped him. He didn't dare hope the door had locks. The couch. He could push the couch against the door! That would stop any persistent assailants! His plan was stopped, however, by Dory.  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"  
  
"What!? What's wrong!?" Panicked, he rushed over to her, but that only succeeding in frightening her worse. "Dory! What's the matter with you!?"  
  
Her face had turned an interesting shade. "OUT! Get out!"  
  
"What…? Why?"  
  
"You're in the WOMEN'S bathroom!"  
  
He didn't even try to argue with her. All he had to do was ignore her until he could get the couch positioned correctly. Then he could reason with her. Pulling off his coat, he began to push the couch against the door. Dory just stared at him with mystified purple eyes. It was heavier than he'd originally thought. It took all of his might to move it a few measly inches across the grimy tile floor. He shoved it a few more with a grunt, as the door began to open.   
  
"Who's there?" Dory called, coming close to peer over his shoulder at the opening.   
  
"Shhh!" he hissed at her, knocking her backwards with an elbow. "Be quiet!" He gave the stupid couch another, more frantic shove. If they were found now, either by bikers or by the men in white, he had no idea what would happen. And, quite personally, did not wish to.  
  
She fell, rubbing her midsection and whimpering. "Oww… that hurt, y'know."  
  
Sick chuckles emerged from behind the door. He flushed, his embarrassment giving way to annoyance. With one last effort he shoved the thing against the door, effectively blocking the entrance; or exit, depending on how you looked at it. The sick chuckles changed to sounds of confusion, then escalating into anger. Fists pounded the door.   
  
Now he had a chance to survey the room. It was a standard bathroom, facilities at one side, a dingy sink at the other. A single window, colored an opaque brown from years of neglect, was placed forlornly on the back wall. Faintly, through the grime, he could see the reflection of streetlamps against metal. The parking lot! He darted over, working his fingers underneath the rusted latch. It didn't budge.   
  
"Dory! Get over here! I need your help!"  
  
She was almost instantly by his side. Her skinny limbs added the boost he needed, sending the window flying open. "Wow!" she exclaimed, poking her head out the small opening. "Look at all the cans!"  
  
He grabbed her legs, much to her surprise, and roughly pushed her out the window. It wouldn't have been too far to the ground. The bar only had one floor after all. Nevertheless, she let out a hurt yelp as she landed on something that made a clanking noise as she hit it. He hurried after her, his slick-soled shoes scrambling for purchase on the grubby tile of the wall. The door slid open. In a panic, he tried to haul himself up purely by the strength of his arms. He made no progress.   
  
Bony fingers latched onto his wrists, pulling him bodily out the window and into a pile of bags filled with beer cans. Dory grinned down at him, not seeming to notice the six-pack holder dangling off her ear. He stared at her. On a whim, he jumped up and slammed the window shut, in an attempt to keep in any prospective followers. Only then did he lean against the wall, take a shaky breath, and attempt to survey his surroundings.   
  
It was dark. Pitch-black, in fact. The only light came from the fluorescent ones that shone weakly through the little window. His heart raced. They must have come out the back, meaning the parking lot was in the other direction. There was Lord knew how many things lurking in the darkness, just waiting for two unwary people to pass by. He slumped down, staring defeated into the blackness. He would have stayed there, had it not been for a skinny body flopping down in front of him. Purple eyes glowed in the dim light.   
  
"Hey, Grumpy."  
  
He frowned. "What…?"  
  
She scooted closer, a secretive smile on her freckled face. "You look sad."  
  
"I'm not sad."  
  
"Well what's wrong then?"  
  
Clenching his teeth, he forced out the words, not regretting the bitter flavor they had. "The VAN, which we need to GET to, is in the parking lot. WAY over there! In the dark!"  
  
"So?" she asked flippantly. "What's the problem?"  
  
He felt like exploding. This woman, whom he had just saved from a beating, refused to take anything seriously. She just stared at him, smiling her insane smile. For one, fleeting moment, he wanted to wipe that horrible look off her face. He forced it back down with a shudder. "Look. It's dark. Things LIVE in the dark that like to steal and maim hapless travelers," he told her, feeling himself calm as he spoke. "We… are hapless travelers. So, we don't go into the dark places. Okay?"  
  
She sat back, reclining on a convenient box while appearing to absorb what he had said. For the moment, he allowed himself a small breath of relief. It seemed that if you spoke slowly enough she would finally get a clue—  
  
"Wanna know how to cheer yourself up? It works every time."  
  
This was insane. One minute she was listening, seeming to understand perfectly, the next she was off rambling about being happy! "I don't want to know," he snapped. "Not now. Not later. Go play with that plastic in your hair."  
  
"You," she began, undaunted by both the six-pack-rings and his irritation. "just keep swimming!" Her face broke into a huge, proud grin.  
  
He stared. What more could he have done? She started singing then, moving her arms in swimming motions. "Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming!"   
  
Deep breaths, something inside him cautioned. Deep, slow breaths… The mantra would have worked, had Dory not clambered to her feet, taking his hand along with her. She kept singing, pulling him behind her as she disappeared into the darkness of the alleyway, heading towards what he hoped was the parking lot. 


	4. Nun Impressions

Author's note: Yes, I will be explaining the whole "Coral Death/Overprotective" thing. But it won't be as direct. Subtlety is fun! And yes, I will be getting back to the "tank". And I realize it's disjointed, but… you've all seen the movie. At least… I assume you have, otherwise what purpose is there in reading this? ^.^ Just know your favorite parts are coming… just… slowly. And disjointedly.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"AAAAAAH! Something's got me!"  
  
  
  
He lessened his hold on her wrist, but did not completely let go. There was no way he'd find her again if he did, not in this darkness. "Something's got y—that's just me!" he growled. "Sorry, just me."  
  
  
  
"Who's that!?" There was real panic in her voice now.  
  
  
  
Had he been able to see her, he would have probably attempted to strangle her. "Who could it be? It's me!" He led her along by her hand, pressing on towards the parking lot. Occasionally, both of them would trip over spilled trash, sending cans clattering before them. He had to steady her more than once, her long legs tripping her up often. Nevertheless, she remained upbeat, humming her little swim song to herself as she walked, sometimes taking a slight dancing step between regular strides. It was during these times that she tripped most often. Once she went so far as to actually fall, landing on a pile of some bagged item that made an unpleasant sound as she hit it. He dragged her to her feet, resenting her company more and more each moment. She never bothered to thank him, or even acknowledge his help, nor did she seem to realize she had fallen. The thought of her bare feet on broken glass crossed his mind, fleetingly, but he grudgingly let it go. If she'd been okay in the park, where there was just as likely to be broken glass, she'd be okay out here. However… it had been light in the park… here it was pitch black.   
  
  
  
Doggedly, he trudged on, shoving any worries to the back of his mind. How much longer could this alley go on anyway?   
  
  
  
"I see a light."  
  
  
  
He stopped. Turning to face what he hoped was Dory, he stared into the darkness. "A light? Where?" He could see nothing but darkness. "I don't see a thing."  
  
  
  
"Over there." Her fingers latched onto his chin, turning his head sharply towards a seemingly random spot in the shadows. "Right there. By that thing."   
  
  
  
There was indeed a light there, blinking faintly next to the metallic hulk of a dumpster.   
  
  
  
"Are we dead?"  
  
  
  
"No… Dory, not yet."   
  
  
  
A soft clink was heard, followed by the scrape of claws on concrete. He could almost hear the pounding of his heart and was vaguely surprised when his companion failed to comment on it. Yet, as he watched, the odd blinking became slightly hypnotic, despite every instinct screaming at him to keep moving. He didn't notice it moving closer. Even Dory kept silent, staring towards the light. She knelt and carefully reached out to the small, flashing thing. Something restrained him from pulling her back and dragging her to the safety of the streetlamps. All he could do was set his hands protectively on her shoulders, feeling her collarbone stand out vividly against barely fleshed tissue. At the back of his disjointed mind, he wondered at the reason behind the young woman's near-emaciation.   
  
  
  
However, he didn't have much time to think on it.  
  
  
  
Something launched itself at them, snarling. He had enough of his mind left to pull Dory back before it hit them. They smacked against the brick of the bar's outer wall, his back aching from the contact. Glasses flew askew, dropping towards the ground as he hauled her up, pulling her in a breathless run for the relative safety of the parking lot.   
  
  
  
She eventually outpaced him, screaming at the top of her lungs. He didn't really blame her. Later, he would recall his own panicked cries as they raced along. All that mattered at the time was getting out of the alley. Light glittered, growing larger with each ragged breath, each hasty footfall. Dory increased her frantic pace until she fairly flew along, her fingers digging five trenches in his wrist, through the fabric of his shirt. It was all he could do to keep up.   
  
  
  
Before he was prepared, the van appeared, gleaming white in the glow of the streetlamp. Had Dory not pulled him to the side, he would have careened straight into the side of the van. They ran alongside a pickup, and she hauled him up onto the hood next to her. For a few moments, they sat there, gasping, disoriented. They would have stayed there, had their assailant not tried once more to attack.   
  
  
  
Out of reflex, he shoved Dory up on top of the cab, bracing against her to keep her from the dog's slavering jaws. It barked, jumping, its claws scratching at the pickup's paint. He kicked at it and it bit his shoe. Stifling curses, he kicked it with the other foot to loosen its hold. With a yelp, the brute fell back to the asphalt.   
  
  
  
It was only then that he noticed the van pulling away from its parking space. He cried out, scrambling off the hood. On cue, the dog leaped up, snarling. He couldn't pass. The van was leaving. It was all falling to shreds in his fingers. Helplessly, he tried to make out the lettering on the side, cursing his glasses for falling off and his eyes for being so weak.   
  
  
  
" 'Pacific Shores'," read a voice over his shoulder. " 'Mental Institution'."  
  
  
  
Inspiration overcame despair. "Dory! Dory, read the rest!" he yelled, grabbing her shoulders. "Hurry!"  
  
  
  
She blinked. "Okay, okay!" Now she squinted, focusing intently on the passing van. For too long a time, she was silent, as if pondering the meaning of the symbols called letters.   
  
  
  
"What's it say!? Speed read!"  
  
  
  
"Pacific Shores. 42 West Abby Way, Sherwood!" There was a definite note of triumph in her voice. "That's it! Well… that and the whole 'mental institution' part…"  
  
  
  
"An address…" he breathed. At last, a definite location. A place to locate and center his search, and then his anger. Who were these people? What right did they have to his son? He glared after the departing van, daring it to come back and face him. He didn't need to chase after it any more. He had an address! Boldly, he started to climb down from the pickup—  
  
  
  
Only to be yanked back up by Dory. She was screaming about a dog. …The dog! Of all things, he'd forgotten the dog. It was still there, slobbering and barking. The fatal light on its collar still blinked. Dory wouldn't stop screaming. She was perched on top of the cab, huddled up in a shaking little ball. Biting his lip, he crawled up to her, resting his hands on her shoulders in a gesture of comfort. To his surprise, she wrapped her arms around him, squeezing tightly. He allowed a fairly undignified noise to escape. This brought a laugh. He disentangled her arms from his waist, trying to figure a way out of this.   
  
  
  
Maybe the dog would get bored and go? Maybe someone would come out and shoo it off? Maybe it would calm down…?  
  
  
  
Yes, and then perhaps Dory would remember her own name.   
  
  
  
There had to be SOME way to get out of here safely…! He turned to Dory, about to ask her for her limited view on the situation, only to discover she had disappeared. Startled, he looked around wildly, hoping to whoever was listening that she hadn't fallen off the truck. However, a glance around proved quite the opposite. She had clambered across to yet another car; this one a carpenter's van, judging by the supplies stored on the roof. Grimly, she threw open a box of tools and began throwing various things at the creature. It yelped, redoubling its efforts to get to her. This caused her to lose the resolve she'd gathered. She flung herself away from the box, purple eyes huge, ungainly limbs trembling.   
  
  
  
That was his cue. He worked his way towards her, taking less caution than he was accustomed to while getting over the gap. Seeing him calmed the young woman immensely. She crawled up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he tried to find something heavy enough to render the dog unconscious. His seeking fingers located the long, thin shaft of a piece of PVC pipe. He pulled it out, weighing it mentally before deciding. It was, in his mind, heavy enough to produce the results he wanted. Without further thought, he threw it at the dog, hoping beyond hope it would strike.   
  
  
  
It did not strike.  
  
  
  
It sailed forward, ricocheted off the van's hood, slid into the animal's collar, and lodged itself in a neighboring car's hubcap. Enraged, the dog launched itself forward, causing the pipe's opposite end to become wedged in the hubcap of the van—trapping it neatly. Its rage soon faded to confusion as it was repeatedly dragged backwards each time it attempted to reach them.   
  
  
  
Nevertheless, he waited where he was, watching just in case. But the pipe was stuck fast. A surge of elation threatened to bowl him over, landing him in the dog's path. Unable to express this new emotion in any way that occurred safe, he hugged Dory. It was the only thing to do at the time that did not entail him dancing and potentially falling off the van. However, when his current position registered, he released her, blushing. She didn't seem to notice.   
  
  
  
"We should get down," he said, trying to cover his affection. To prompt her along, he headed down the back of the van, as far from the dog as possible. "Where are we going again?"  
  
  
  
"Pacific Shores. 42 West Abby Way, Sherwood!" she said, then gasped.  
  
  
  
He looked up, afraid something had happened. The look of joy on her face startled him more than her gasp had. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"   
  
  
  
"I remembered!" With that, she leapt down from the roof, landing in a crouch that looked practiced. The move was unlike anything he'd seen from her. It just added to the oddity that was the blue-haired woman. "I remembered the address!" She began to dance.   
  
  
  
By this time, he'd reached the asphalt. He could faintly hear the dog snarling from the other side. Sherwood…? Where was Sherwood? It wasn't the way they'd come. He knew all the little towns on the west end of the city… but the east…   
  
  
  
……Breaks squealing. A baby crying. Headlights bearing down on them. A jolt. Wet pavement. Broken glass. Flashing lights. Blood. Tears. A paramedic telling him the horrible news. His fault. Guilt. Rain falling……   
  
……Coral……  
  
  
  
It had to be to the east. It was the one place he'd never go again. Of all the twists of fate… He grabbed Dory's wrist, leaving the parking lot and heading east down the dirty sidewalk.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
"Can I get a hotdog?"  
  
  
  
"Fine…"  
  
  
  
"How about two?"  
  
  
  
"No."  
  
  
  
"Cheetos?"  
  
  
  
"…As long as they don't have any sugar."  
  
  
  
"They're cheesy, silly! No sugar!"   
  
  
  
He sighed, moving towards the counter, carrying his own meager food. His glasses had been found in a jacket pocket upon their departure from the bar's parking lot. They'd come to a small gas station on the outskirts of the downtown area, looking for both a rest and directions, as he had little idea of where exactly Sherwood was. However, all he got for his efforts—not to mention his correct change—was a nod from the bubblegum chewing cashier, no matter how hard he tried. Disgusted and frustrated, he stalked out of the store area, flopping down on the curb outside and taking a vengeful bite out of an unassuming hotdog.   
  
  
  
His appetite fled. All he could do was stare at the misshapen bite missing from the snack. Next to him, Dory tore into her food, devouring it with such abandon that it pricked his conscience for his body's lack of appetite. After a moment, he handed her his uneaten hotdog. She stared at him with such wide-eyed appreciation that he blushed. With a breathless word of thanks, she gulped down the second hotdog in a matter of moments before starting in on the small bag of Cheetos. It was all he could do not to stare. Where on earth had she come from? Was she from a poor family? The streets even? Wherever she'd come from, it was obviously a place where adequate food was not a constant variable. Finishing off the Cheetos, she stared so mournfully into the empty bag that he was moved.   
  
  
  
"You still hungry?"  
  
  
  
She looked up, blue hair framing her startled face. "Yeah…" she admitted, fingering yellow nails. "Sorry."  
  
  
  
"No, it's all right." He stood, taking her hand. "C'mon. You're starved. You'll need more in your system besides junk food." A frail smile crossed his face. "Maybe they have sandwiches."   
  
  
  
The look on her face made him blush anew. He'd only seen that look of absolute joy once before… and it brought back memories he wished would stay buried. Before he could look back, he pulled her back into the store, refusing to take even one glance at her shining eyes. He just couldn't look. If he did… he knew… he knew what he'd find there. Sorrow. Only sorrow; despite the contagious joy radiating from Dory.  
  
  
  
It was then he realized his plight. For her to remain with him would cause him such pain… it already was. There was just too much about her that brought back memories he didn't need. The only saving grace was that the majority of the time she reminded him more of a child than of… of… someone else. But those fleeting, singular moments when she became so much more than just a child—those hurt him more than she would ever know. Yet if he were to abandon her, he would be the one who caused the pain, he would be the one to break a heart. He would be guilty all over again.   
  
  
  
Upon entering the store, they found it nearly overrun with women in gray and black outfits. They were everywhere, poking into the refrigerated goods and rummaging through bags of salty snacks.   
  
  
  
Nuns?  
  
  
  
Where had nuns come from? Vaguely, he recalled a bus pulling into the gas station, emptying its cargo of gray-clad devotes into the area. There was a shelter in his neighborhood for women, run by persons similar to the ones now swarming around him. Normally, he paid his respects quietly, giving them their space, but now… now they were just getting in his way. Trying his best to remain civil, he maneuvered around them, occasionally scooting some out of his way as he moved toward where he assumed sandwiches would be kept. They greeted his flinty courtesy with looks of contempt. Some even muttered things at him as he passed. Blatantly ignoring them all, he pulled a cold turkey sandwich from the glass case, paid for it, and pulled Dory out from between racks of brightly wrapped candies.  
  
  
  
Outside once again, he inhaled deeply of gasoline fumes mixed with cool night air. There was indeed a bus parked at one of the filling stations. Sleek, and shaped like the classic Greyhound, it dominated the space. However, it was not the size, but the letters painted on its side, reading:  
  
  
  
"St. Victoria of Sherwood Presents: the Impressionist Nuns!"   
  
  
  
The mingling smells and the sight of this bus gave him the resolve he needed. Dory would forget whatever hurt he inflicted on her. One small benefit. Yet, he waited until she'd finished devouring the sandwich before he spoke. It was one more small favor for her. His eyes roamed about the gas pumps, waiting for her. She stood, brushing crumbs from her jeans. He was snapped back from the formation of an idea by her movement. "So!" She grinned brightly. "Where to?"  
  
  
  
"Dory… sit down…" he sighed, putting his hands on her bony shoulders and guiding her down to the curb again. "We… need to talk."  
  
  
  
"Okay." The brightness never left her gaze.  
  
  
  
"This…" he began, pulling a wad of crumpled bills from his pocket. "This is for a cab home. I'll call it for you… if you can remember where you live." He pressed them into her fragile hand. "I'll call a cab… and wait until you get in. Then… you'll go home, and I'll… I'll go to Sherwood."  
  
  
  
Now confusion clouded her purple eyes as they darted around, her mind whirling. A weak, "What?" was all that would emerge from her lips.   
  
  
  
"You need to go home." There he'd said it, purely and simply. "I need to go on. Alone…"   
  
  
  
Now it dawned on her, and the hurt in her eyes was almost too much for him. She folded in on herself, wrapping spindly arms around her knees, dropping her forehead to rest against them. Her shoulders shook with rigidly suppressed sobs. He winced. "No… no… Dory… don't…" He was unable to finish—due to both his own uncertainty and concern for her. "It's not so bad…"  
  
  
  
"You leave her alone!"  
  
  
  
He jumped, staring up in shock at the burlesque woman in grey—a nun—who had materialized from the interior of the convenience store. Dory looked up too, her tearstained face paling briefly, then returning to a more normal color as confusion overtook her fears. The woman moved between them, putting a comforting arm around Dory. He sputtered, unable to speak.  
  
  
  
"There, there, dear," she said, patting Dory's arms. "Is he bothering you?"  
  
  
  
Now even more confusion filled her face. "I… I don't… remember…" She scrunched up her face in thought as he silently thanked everything he could think of. However, his elation rapidly deflated when she turned to him. "Who are you again…?" she asked, wiping at her eyes.   
  
  
  
"Ehh… I'm… you remember me? Marlin…? Bought you a sandwich…?" he asked, trying to jog her memory as best he could.   
  
  
  
She was about to answer, but the nun cut her off. "Do you like impressions, dear?" At Dory's nod, she scurried off to collect a flock of her fellows. They hustled over, clucking amongst themselves. After a moment, they regrouped, forming what was quite obviously a group of mimes. "What are we?" their leader prompted.  
  
  
  
Dory's lengthy pause was far more than he could take. "Mimes," he whispered. Unfortunately, the nuns heard him. They shot him a few glares before returning to their routine. More horrendously easy questions followed, and he had to bite his tongue to keep the answers from leaking out. His question burned in him. Finally, he was unable to contain himself any longer.   
  
  
  
"Can one of you PLEASE tell me which way it is to Sherwood!?"  
  
  
  
There was a moment of terse silence. One of the nuns snickered, then launched into a rather impressive mimicry of his own voice. The others erupted in giggling laughter, Dory included. Heat rose in his cheeks as embarrassment and indignation flooded his senses. How dare they? He stalked away, hands clenched into fists, muttering to himself. Would NO one on this planet take him seriously?!   
  
  
  
It was then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He whirled around, ready to berate one of those interfering women, only to come face to prominent collarbone with Dory. From the concern in her face, it was obvious she'd forgotten about their little… argument of a few minutes prior. "You okay…?" she asked gently.   
  
  
  
Despite her good intentions, he felt himself cut loose on her. "NO! I am NOT okay! I'm who-knows-where, with a busload of tyrannical nuns, and a woman who can't even remember her own name—"  
  
  
  
"That must be frustrating," she interjected  
  
  
  
"—all the while my son is lost in some city I've only heard of! And NO ONE will help me find him!"  
  
  
  
A soft, placid look came into her face, and she smiled. "I'm helping you though, aren't I? Why else would I be here?" Without waiting for her words to sink in, she turned back to the cloister of gray-robed women. "Oh ladies!"  
  
  
  
They snapped to attention. "He's not still bothering you, is he?" asked the leader, her voice dripping with suspicion over the authenticity of Dory's upcoming answer.  
  
  
  
"Nah, he's all right," the blue-haired woman answered, beaming. "He's just lost, and kinda frustrated. I guess he has a right to be." She giggled. "Anyway, we're looking for Sherwood. Can you help us?"  
  
  
  
"Oh of course!" Now their leader was all smiles. She pointed with a gnarled finger. "It's just down that road!"  
  
  
  
It was his turn to snap around. "How far?" he asked, hoping his eagerness was not too betrayed by his face.  
  
  
  
"Uhhh… about… thirteen miles or so?" Another murmured her agreement, so the lead nun continued. "You'll come to a river which spits out into the ocean. Follow the ocean east for about…. Five miles? You should start seeing city limits signs then."  
  
  
  
He barely had time to blurt a hasty "thanks" before he was off, moving as fast as his tired feet could carry him. He was out of earshot when Dory began following him. One of the nuns pulled her back, however, to whisper conspiratorially to her.   
  
  
  
"Listen, girl. A word of caution. You'll come to a fork in the road eventually. One way leads down a forested road, the other a highway. Take the woods. It's far safer for people walking. Don't forget now."  
  
She shot them a wide grin. "Don't worry! I'll remember! Thank you!" With those parting words, she dashed off after her red-haired compatriot.  
  
Author's note #2: Finally got some pictures up on Side7 of my little guys. I repeat SOME. More are coming 9.6  
  
Dory: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283026  
  
Marlin: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283053  
  
Peach: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283181  
  
Crush&Squirt: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283699  
  
Gill&Peach: http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=284998 (I'm especially proud of this one)   
  
Gill: (least favorite out of them all, the B&W one is much better) http://www.side7.com/cgi-bin/S7SDB/Display.pl?act=image&iid=283182 


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